A Tavington Christmas Carol
by Corri
Summary: On Christmas Eve, Colonel Tavington is visited by three spirits who try and teach him a little something about love and compassion. The question is, will he listen?
1. A Visit from an Old Friend

Title: A Tavington Christmas Carol

Author: Corri 

Disclaimer: I do not own The Patriot or any of the characters associated with it. 

Feedback: Please! I don't know how good this is… 

Author's note: This story is set during the events of the movie, after the death of Thomas, after the identity of the Ghost has been revealed, but before the climactic battle at the end.  I don't know how that works with real event, but I'm going to be like the movie producers and pretend like they don't matter. ;-)  This story is posted with apologies to Charles Dickens (the writer), Mickey Mouse (whose cartoon version of A Christmas Carol I cry at every December), and George C. Scott (who will ALWAYS be Scrooge to me, go find the movie version with him in it if you haven't!), all of whom have inspired this in some way, and with many apologies to poor much maligned Will, who turned out a little meaner than I'd planned at the beginning.  And now, without any further ado, here is "Tavington's Christmas Carol" 

            Colonel William Tavington would always remember _that_ particular Christmas Eve as a cold, dark, dreary, miserable affair.  A dense covering of clouds had moved in over Fort Carolina three days before and showed no sign whatsoever of moving on any time soon.  It was bitterly cold outside, and only slightly less so in the colonel's office.  Fuel was scarce and difficult to come by, yet Tavington, never one to waste the army's precious resources on his personal comfort, did not even spare his cold hearth a second glance.  The only sign of feeling that crossed his face as he worked was a look of annoyance when he dipped his pen in the inkpot and discovered that the ink had become unusable due to the extreme low temperature.  He looked at the stack of unfinished reports, and then back at the frozen ink, and scowled.  To make matters worse, his concentration was, at that very moment, broken by the sound of child-like shrieking coming from the courtyard below.  

            He pushed his chair away from the desk.  With three or four purposeful strides, he was standing at the window.  The cause of all the noise appeared to be… a snowball fight.  Several of the children belonging to the families who had attached themselves to British camp were happily engaged in throwing the powdery white stuff at each other.  They were making a ridiculously loud racket, and William wished that some officer would come and tell them to be quiet.  It was then that he took a second glance at the game that was going on below and realized that there were not only children, but several younger soldiers, and even a few officers engaged in the fight! 

            "Disgraceful," he muttered to himself and turned his back to the window.  "Tomorrow is Christmas, and somehow this is a reason for grown men to forget their dignity and act like children? Bah!" He drew the curtains together sharply and went back over to his desk.  Tavington had been irritable ever since the Christmas spirit had descended upon the fort.  Around the middle of December, everyone around him had begun to be needlessly cheerful and friendly, and it was driving him to distraction.  Did they not remember there was a war going on?  What use was talk of Christmas cheer and bright futures if the spring only brought more of the same tiresome battle with the rebels?  They should be planning, not celebrating!

            "I swear, if one more person wishes me a merry Christmas…" he murmured to himself, and imagined visiting violent deeds of retribution upon the offending individual.    

            The door of his office slammed open and a gust of even colder air from the hallway blew into the small room.  The colonel looked up from his work and sighed.  The man who stood framed in the doorway was his manservant, Robert Eastfield.  He carried a bright red officer's coat and a cloth wrapped bundle. 

            "Good day to you, Sir," Robert said cheerily as he set the bundle on Tavingtons desk.  He carefully handed the coat to the colonel himself.  "I had your shirts washed and folded, and the coat has been cleaned and brushed."  Tavington accepted the coat and hung it on the back of his chair, causing Robert to wince at his employer's cavalier treatment of the garment.   The colonel barely even noticed him. 

            "Ah, Sir?" Robert said, peering tentatively at the man behind the desk.  William, who was already hard at work again, looked up. 

            "Still here, Robert?  Was there something you wanted?" 

            "Well, Sir, I was hoping to ask you… seeing how I've completed all you've asked of me for the next few days, and seeing how tomorrow is Christmas…" Robert looked at the colonel hopefully, only to be met by a pair of cold grey eyes.  The servant shuffled his feet and stared at the floor, coughing embarrassedly.  

            "You would like to have the day off," Tavington stated.  

            "Yes, Sir," Robert answered.  "That is, if it's not too much trouble.  I told my wife and daughter I'd try to be with them on Christmas day, and if you could just see my little girl, Sir, you'd know I can't refuse her anything."  The colonel was not amused. 

            "Is she contributing to the racket out there, by any chance?" he asked, and jerked his finger toward the window, where sounds of merriment were still managing to drift in despite William's best efforts.  

            "Oh, no, Sir," Robert said, and a sad melancholy look passed over his good-natured features.  William took no notice of his servant's pained expression.  "She's a quiet little child, sweet and gentle as they come." 

            "Good," the colonel said, and went back to his reports.  "I have no need of you tomorrow, so you may take the day off.  However, I should tell you that I shall not be paying you on a day that have no need for you." 

            "Of course, Sir," Robert agreed.   "Thank you, Sir, and Merry Christmas."  

            The colonel's head shot up, and he glared at Robert irritably. 

            "Christmas," he growled, "is nothing more than an excuse for men to forget themselves, get drunk, and cause trouble.  It's unprofessional, if you ask me, and any soldier who goes about with 'merry Christmas' on his lips ought to be run through with his own bayonet and buried with a sprig of holly in his heart!  Now, if you don't mind, I have work to do!"  The tirade was a little more vehement than William had intended it to be, and, seeing the frightened expression on Robert's face, he did his best to smile cordially.  Robert bowed to his employer and made a hasty retreat.  

            "Peace at last," William grumbled to himself as the door closed behind his servant.  _Perhaps I will finish before dark if there aren't any more interruptions._  He had only just bent his head to his work when the door flew open again.  The colonel didn't even look up. 

            "Mr. Eastfield, I thought I said I was occupied.  Now, get out of here before I…" it was then that his visitor chose to clear his throat, and William finally realized who was standing in his office.  His face paled slightly and he rose respectfully.  "Lord Cornwallis, I apologize.  I assumed that you were…" 

            "Someone else.  I know, Colonel.  Sit down," the general said, and availed himself of the only other chair in Tavington's office.  

            "And to what do I owe this… honor?" William asked, a slight edge to his voice.  He knew very well that the general had little use for him, and the last thing he needed at the moment was a reminder of the low regard in which he was held.  

            "I had been meaning to mention this earlier, but it must have slipped my mind," Cornwallis began.  Tavington resisted the urge to sigh.  "I have arranged for Christmas dinner to be served to my officers tomorrow afternoon in my quarters, and wished to extend an invitation."  

            _Slipped his mind?  More likely he didn't want me to hear it from someone else and feel slighted.  Strange, though, Cornwallis has never taken care not to upset me before,_ William thought.  To the general, he replied, "Though I am flattered to have been invited, I fear I must decline."  

            "Decline? Why, Tavington?" Cornwallis looked genuinely confused.  It was not often that any man refused an invitation to dine with one of the more powerful men in the colonies. 

            "I fear I would not bring much to Your Lordship's table.  I don't make merry at Christmas, and those who do are sometimes offended by my lack of cheer." 

            Cornwallis frowned, and Will winced inwardly.  _Now I've gone and offended the man.  Wonderful.  Simply wonderful._  

            "You're telling me that you don't see reason to celebrate on Christmas?" the general asked.  There was a dangerous gleam in his eye, but Tavington answered honestly. 

            "It is just another day, Sir," he said quietly.  

            "Just another day?  Christmas, Colonel, is a day to celebrate the brotherhood of all men, and to remember the birth of Our Lord.  You would be wise to bear that in mind!"  Cornwallis when angry was a truly formidable sight.  Lesser men would have acceded the point, but William simply stared back at him. 

            "Well then, I only ask that you remember Him in your way, and let me do so in mine," he said.  

            "As you wish," Cornwallis said.  "If you change your mind, know that you are still welcome."  

            "Of course.  Thank you, Your Lordship," William said.  The general nodded and slipped out of the room, letting in another gust of cold air as he went.  

……………………

            Hours later, and long after the sun had sunk beneath the snow-covered horizon, Tavington was making his way through the drafty hallways of the third floor of the colonial mansion that was serving as officer's quarters.  His room was small and cold, but at least it had a real bed, and it was inside, surrounded by four real walls instead of flimsy tent canvas.  The hallway was dark, and William had only a single candle to light his way.  As he put his hand on the doorknob to his room, he turned and looked back the way he had come.  For a moment, he could have sworn that he had heard something call his name.  

_            William… William Tavington…_  There it was again!  

            "Who's there?" William called.  There was no answer, only the sound of the wind outside against the glass of the windowpanes.  "I am tired," he whispered to himself.  "That is all.  Very, very tired."  He turned the knob and stepped into his room.  It was a bare, sparse place, with only a bed and a writing desk for furniture, and a frayed rug on the floor.  Will set the candle on the desk and proceeded to hang his clothing over the back of the chair.  He shrugged on a nightshirt and went to pick up his candle.  As he did, his eyes fell on a small wooden box sitting on top of the desk.  He picked it up with his other hand and went to sit on the bed.  Carefully, he lifted the lid.  A soldier's life left little room for personal possessions, but those that were most important to the colonel were stored in that little box.  From it, he drew a folded piece of paper, slightly torn in a few places and stained in others.  He smiled slightly as he unfolded it, and placed it on the bed.  _My first commission, signed by dear old Richard himself. How long ago that seems now! _  Richard Setley, his first commanding officer and one of his oldest friends, had died three years ago to the day of lingering wounds received while fighting the rebels.  William, never one to take joy in Christmas, had taken even less after his friend passed away on Christmas Eve.  

            Checking to make sure that the other objects in the box were safe, Will placed his commission back in the box and closed the lid.  When it snapped shut, he heard the sound of heavy footfalls and the clank of chains coming down the hallway.  _Wiiiiiilliam… _The same ghostly voice called to him again.  

            "Show yourself, whoever you are!" Will yelled.  He turned around in a circle, looking for some sign of the intruder.  The sound of the wind was suddenly very loud, and the footsteps were getting closer.  Tavington grabbed his pistol from where it was laying on the desk and loaded it hastily.  He cocked it and pointed it at the door.  There was no lock, but whatever was out there was going to be quite surprised when it finally got inside!  The door rattled on its hinges, but it did not open.  Instead, a misty translucent figure walked _through_ the solid wooden door.  He was clad in a fine officer's uniform, but he was draped with chains, off of which were hung pistols, knives, swords, canon balls, and various other instruments of war.  The figure's uniform was stained with black, thick blood that seeped from unclosed wounds in his torso, arms, and legs.  Though he tried to stop it, William's hand was shaking. 

            "Oh, for heaven's sake, Will!  Put down the gun before you shoot yourself in the foot!" 

            "Richard?  Is that really you?" the colonel asked, peering at the ghost's face for the first time.  The eyes were the same, blue and clear, and then there was that jutting chin and little nose.  Yes, there was no doubt that this was none other than Richard Setley.  

            "Of course it's me, you idiot!  Who else would it be?" Richard's ghost looked annoyed, and Will was at a loss for words.  

            "I… I can't think of anyone," he finally murmured.  "But, Richard, why haunt _me?_  We were always good friends when you were alive."  

            "And that is precisely the reason I have come!  I'm not here to haunt you, Will, I'm here to help you."  The ghost sat down in William's chair, chains and weapons clanging together as he did so.  

            "I hardly think I'm in need of any help," Tavington said, holding his candle up so he could see his guest better.  "You taught me everything I needed to know about being a soldier, and quite a bit about life, if you remember." 

            "You were a quick pupil," Setley said, his face expressionless.  

            "Those were good times, Richard.  Upholding the king's justice, keeping the peace, keeping the rabble in line, hunting down law-breakers," Will chuckled at the memory.   As he spoke, Richard began to shake his head, and after a while he rose from his chair, agitated. 

            "No! We were wrong!  _I_ was wrong.  Sometimes, we should have been helping instead of hunting.  We should have been handing out mercy instead of judgment."  Richard's eyes were wild and fevered, and he looked at Tavington with an imploring gaze that made the younger man uncomfortable.  

            "Wrong?  That's ridiculous.  We were doing as we were told.  We can't be expected to be compassion – "  

            "But we _are!_" Richard interrupted him.  The ghost lifted his arms and rattled his chains. "Listen closely, my friend.  Every man that draws breath on the earth must, in some way, help his brother man.  We all must make some contribution, and those of us who do not do so in life are condemned to do so after death!" 

            "But, you did help people," Will reminded him. "Well, _a_ person.  You helped me, remember?  You were a friend to me when I had no one.  That should have counted for something, shouldn't it?"   Richard's face took on a look of infinite sadness and he shook his head. 

            "No, Will.  Unfortunately, my friendship with you only increased my burden.  I fear that I have set you down the wrong path, and I am paying dearly for it."  

            The colonel sat down hard on the bed. 

            "I'm sorry," he said, being able to think of nothing else.  "Is there anything I can do?" 

            "It's too late for me," Richard said, rising from his chair, "but perhaps, for you, there is still time." 

            "Time?  Time for what?" Tavington asked impatiently.  

            "Time to change!  And change you must, my boy!  I have seen the chain that has been set aside for you, and it was even longer than the one I carry, and that was three years ago!  I am sure you have added to it since!"  Richard was standing directly in front of his former protégé, and William leaned back to avoid being so close to the insubstantial figure. 

            "You will be visited tonight by three spirits," Richard continued.  "They will tell you what you must do."  

            "Spirits?" Tavington said, and raised an eyebrow.  "I don't need any spirits telling me what to do, thank you.  In fact," he poked a finger at the ghost's chest, and it went right through, "I don't even know if any of this is real.  You are most likely a figment of my imagination!" 

            "No!  You must listen, if only for my sake, Will.  It will do me good to know that you have been spared my fate!"  Setley shouted.  William flinched back at his friend's sudden vehemence.  "The first will come at the stroke of one, the second at two, and the third will come whenever he wishes. He is not bound by the laws of time." He turned toward the wall and began to make his way out of the room. "Remember me when the spirits show you what they will, so that you may avoid my punishment!"  His voice sounded as if it was coming from further and further away, and as the last of him melted through the door, it disappeared completely.  

            William stared after him, a little wild eyed.  

            "Just a dream.  It was just a dream," he whispered to himself, and crawled beneath his covers.  "I need to sleep, that's all.  Sleep to chase away these dreams of spirits!" He laid his head on the pillow and fell into a troubled sleep. 


	2. The Ghost of Christmas Past

            The clock on Tavington's desk chimed one, and the colonel stirred restlessly.  

            "One in the morning," he muttered.  "And no sign of any spirits!"  As if his words had the power of summoning, a bright light suffused a spot on the floor beside his bed, and when the light dimmed and he could see again, a small girl child was peering at him expectantly, and a large candelabra with five cheery flames had mysteriously appeared on his desk.  The girl was no more than five years old, with golden curls and large blue eyes.  Her dress was simple, but well made.  Something a well-to-do farmer's child might have worn, perhaps? 

            "What are you doing here?"  William demanded.  "And how did you get in?" He rubbed his eyes with the thumb and forefinger of his left hand while groping for the candle with his right.  It _had_ to be his imagination that the child had just appeared out of thin air!  Besides, she looked familiar, for some reason.  

            "You saw me arrive," she said quietly.  Her voice was soft and childlike, but authority and power far beyond her years were present in her speech.  "Come, you must get up.  We have much to do, and my time is short."  She gave him a wide-eyed smile, and he suddenly remembered where he had seen her before.   

            "You're one of that farmer's children!  The one who tried to hide the rebel spy!" he said, his voice rising with every word.  The little girl whom he supposed to be Susan Martin smiled. 

            "I knew hers was a face you would remember, Colonel, and that is why I chose it," she said.  She threw back the blankets on his bed with her tiny hands and pulled on his arm.  "Now, we really must be going!" 

            "Going where?" he asked.  

            "To the past, of course," she answered.  "I am, after all, the Ghost of Christmas past." 

            "The first of three?" 

            "The very same."  She went to his window and pushed it open, then picked up the candelabra and sat on the windowsill, waiting for him.  

            "What are you doing?  Close that at once!" he ordered.  "It's cold enough in here already!"  

            "This is how we're leaving," she explained.  Her young face was beginning to look impatient.  

            "Must we go outside?  Can't you just… show me what you must right here?"  In response, she handed him his coat and boots.  He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror that was hanging on the wall as he rose from the bed.  His coat was hastily pulled on over his nightshirt, his boots looked ridiculous poking out from beneath the long white garment, and his hair was a tangled mess around his shoulders. 

            "No one will see you, William," the Spirit said from her perch on the windowsill. "Now, take my hand." Reluctantly, he closed his fingers around her small hand, and felt himself being pulled out of his window, out of Fort Carolina, and out of Time.  

……………….

            Will found himself on a quiet street, with prosperous-looking homes stretching off into the distance.  He breathed in the fresh, crisp evening air, and smiled.  

            "I know this place," he said, his voice low and reverent.  

            "Of course you do!" the Spirit said.  "You were a boy here!  We are near your family's home in Liverpool, where you were born!" 

            "It's been so long since I'd seen it, I'd almost forgotten…" Will mused, his face taking on a slightly softer cast than was usual for him.  

            "Walk with me?" the Ghost of Christmas Past offered, and held out her hand again.  He took it, and the man the small girl made their way down the street.  Above them, one of the windows burst open, and a dark haired boy thrust his hair out into the cold.  

            "It snowed last night, Mother!  Everything is covered in white for Christmas!" he yelled.  The colonel stared up at him in amazement.  

            "That's _me_!" 

            "You as you were at eight years of age," the Spirit corrected him.  Tavington didn't hear her.  He still stared up at his younger self.  The boy was smiling, and could almost have been called a pretty child with his dark brown, nearly black hair, pale skin, and strange grey eyes.  Still, there was a liveliness about him that had faded as the boy grew older and was now almost completely hidden in the colonel.  

            "William!  Shut the window!" a woman's voice called from inside.  "You're letting in the cold, and your Christmas will be no fun for you if you catch some sickness or other!" At the sound of her voice, Tavington's eyes widened.  The boy in the window quickly obeyed her words, but the man down below continued to gaze at the house after he had gone.  

            "That was my mother's voice," he told the Spirit.  She nodded. 

            "I know, William.  Why don't we go inside?  No one will see or hear us.  We will be observers only." 

            He allowed her to lead him up the steps and through the door.  As he stepped across the threshold, he could hear the sound of laughing voices.  Even after many years, he knew his way to the parlor where the family would be gathered.  Everything was just as he remembered.  His father, just beginning to go grey, sat in a large, comfortable armchair near the fire, reading a newspaper and occasionally glancing up to see what his wife and son were doing.  

            William had to steady himself against the parlor doorframe when he first caught sight of his mother for the first time in more than twenty years.  Christiana Tavington was a beautiful woman.  Her hair was coal black, and though it was pinned up stylishly, curled ringlets hung down on either side of her face.  Her eyes were bluer than her son's, and her lips seemed to be curled upwards in a permanent smile of amusement.  

            "I think you should open your gift, Will," she said.  She sat on the floor next to her son, her skirts arranged daintily about her.  Young William sat next to her, holding a long package wrapped in cloth and tied closed with string.  He eagerly pulled off the string and unfurled the cloth.  A wooden sword fell into his lap.  It was just his size, about two and a half feet long, with a grand looking letter 'T' carved into the hilt.  

            "I wonder what ever happened to that old toy sword," Tavington mused to himself.  

            "Your father bade you leave it when you moved to London, don't you remember?" the Spirit told him.  

            "Yes, that's right.  That was one memory I would rather have left forgotten."  He grew quiet again as he watched his mother and his child-self laughing together on the parlor floor.  "She was a wonderful mother," he said after a while.  "Look how she plays with me and humors me!  How many women would take such joy in their sons' little games?" 

            "She loved you very much," the Spirit said sagely.  

            The boy William brandished his new sword while his mother looked on in admiration and his father watched tolerantly from the corner.  

            "I'm going to go to sea, and be a famous captain, and fight pirates!" little Will announced.  

            "Pirates?" Christiana said, placing a hand over her mouth and pretending to be worried.  "Don't you think you'd better stay here in case they decide to attack the house?" 

            "Do you think they would?" Will asked seriously, and glanced towards the window.  "I'll stay here then.  I don't want them to get you.  Besides, there might be bandits, or wild wolves, or kidnappers!" His father muttered something about there not being any wolves for miles, but Christiana shushed him.  

            "Let him have his dreams, Henry," she whispered to him. Henry raised his newspaper and started reading again. 

            "Speaking of dreams, isn't it time for someone to be in bed?" Christiana said.  William nodded and grabbed his sword.  Colonel Tavington and his Spirit friend followed them upstairs.  

            Christiana tucked the covers around him tightly, but one arm was still exposed, and it had a tight grip on the wooden weapon.  

            "Can I keep it with me, Mother?" he asked.  "Just in case?" 

            "I wouldn't feel safe if you didn't!" she answered with complete seriousness.  She kissed his forehead and brushed his cheek with her hand.  From his vantage point across the room, the older William caught a glint of blue on her finger.  

            "Mother's sapphire ring!  I still have that, you know," he told the Spirit.  He didn't know why, but for some reason he felt the need to justify himself to her.  "It was the one thing of hers that I managed to keep Father from selling." He took one last look at the mother and son, and turned away.  "Spirit, these memories are… painful.  Please, take me away from here."  She nodded gravely, and regarded him with her ageless eyes. 

            "This was your mother's last Christmas," she said.  

            "Yes, she died in the autumn of the following year."  

            "And many things changed," the Spirit stated.  There was a note of finality to her voice, and she offered him her hand again.  Again, he took it, and felt the strange melting away of time and place. 

……………………

            His eyes opened on a room glowing with candles and filled with people dressed in fine clothing.  Despite all the finery, there was little gentility in the atmosphere of the party.  Well dressed ladies, dripping with jewels, laughed raucously at jokes told by men in tailored coats with white powdered wigs.  William sucked his breath in through his teeth. 

            "I remember this," he said, and sounded as if he wished he didn't.  "After my mother died, Father insisted that we move to London.  He thought that our 'prospects' would be better there. Our _prospects!_  Ha!" 

            "You certainly don't look very happy to be here," the Spirit said, and pointed at a pale boy.  He looked to be about fourteen years old, handsome in a dark green coat and standing behind one of the players at a noisy card game. 

            "I hated Father's circle of so-called friends.  Just look at them!  These are the dissolute and depraved of London's upper class, for the most part.  We have here the younger sons, the bastard sons, the unmarried daughters of poor, titled families, the unmarried daughters of rich, untitled families, and the people who are amused by watching their scheming," he said.  "They always invited father because he was free with his money, and couldn't play a decent hand of cards if his life depended on it.  That's probably part of why I hated coming to these things.  He always insisted that I come, though.  He said I needed to be 'out and seen' in society." 

            The card game across the room exploded in laughter, and William and his small companion walked over to the table.  He glanced at each player in turn.  

            "These were some of the worst," he said. "Especially that one."  He indicated a man in an extravagantly embroidered purple coat, with a large diamond pin at his neck and rings on every finger.  "Sir James Waterton, second son of Lord Waterton.  He was cruel, uncaring, and one of the best card players in London.  My father ended up practically selling his soul to pay off the gambling debts he owed to the man." What the colonel didn't say was what everyone knew, but no one ever spoke of.  Waterton's tastes tended to run to young soldiers and even younger boys.  

            "Well, Henry Tavington!  It looks as if you are out of funds!" Waterton announced, waving his hand at the empty space on the table in front of Will's father.  Behind him, both the young and old versions of his son stiffened, identical looks of embarrassment and hurt pride on their faces.  Henry grabbed a class of champagne from a passing tray and took a long drink. 

            "How about this, Waterton, if you beat me, you can have my son for the night!" he offered jokingly.  The boy stared at his father with a horrified expression as the entire table laughed.  The older William's face remained calm, but when the little Spirit girl by his side hugged his arm, he put a hand on her shoulder, glad to have someone with him.  Waterton pretended to consider the boy seriously, visibly enjoying Will's discomfort, than shook his head and laughed.  

            "He's not pretty enough for me, Henry, I'm sorry.  I would, however, be willing to extend your credit…" he suggested.  Young Will didn't hear the rest of the conversation.  He quickly left the party and excused himself to a balcony that could be reached through the double doors at the other end of the room.  

            He leaned his elbows on the railing that ran around the balcony and let the cool air wash over his face.  It was obvious that he was close to tears, but by an incredibly strong act of will, he kept them in.  Anger, loss, and a mix of other emotions fought for control of his face.  After a few minutes, a cold, passive calm won out.  

            "How could any man do that?" the Ghost of Christmas Past wondered aloud.  "And to his own son, no less!" 

            "I often wondered that myself," the colonel said.  The words came out less steadily than he intended.  The Spirit gave him a knowing look, but didn't say anything.  

            "You endured great pain, but you were not without friends.  Look!"  As she pointed to the doors, they swung open and a man in an officer's dress uniform stepped through to join William on the balcony.  

            "You're lucky that you're handsome instead of pretty," he said.  "Your father just lost to Waterton again," Richard Setley said.  

            "What a surprise.  I don't know if I'll live through the shock!" Will shot back.  Setley laughed.  

            "You didn't get that sense of humor from your father, boy, I know that for a fact!" he said.  

            "Why is that?" William asked, finally turning to face Richard. 

            "First of all, your father doesn't have one, and second, that sounded like… something your mother would say." 

            "You knew my mother?" 

            "She and I were old friends. I remember seeing you when you were just barely walking…" Richard's voice trailed off at the fond memory.  "Which is probably why you don't remember me.  I'm Colonel Richard Setley."  

            "It's an honor to meet you, Sir," William said formally.  He glanced worriedly through the window.  It appeared his father had lost yet again.  A dark anger blazed in his pale eyes, and Richard saw it and took a step back.  

            "Don't let him get to you, William," he advised.  

            "And how can I not?  He gambles, and he loses.  He spends money we don't have.  By the time he gets around to drinking himself to death, the family isn't going to have a penny to its name!" 

            "Those are grown up words for a young boy.  How old are you?" Richard asked. 

            "Fourteen," Will answered curtly.  

            "Almost a man, then."  He put a hand on William's shoulder.  "If, at sometime in the future, there is anything I could do to help you… a recommendation, a letter of introduction, a loan, a commission in the army, perhaps, you let me know.  There is nothing I wouldn't do for Christiana Tavington's son." 

            "Did you love her?" Will asked tentatively after several moments of silence.  

            "I asked her to marry me, but she turned me down.  We were always friends after that, though," Richard said.  

            "I wish, for her sake, that she _had_ married him sometimes," Tavington observed to the Spirit standing next to him.  "Richard would have been good to her.  I found out later how much he loved truly loved her." 

            "And that love passed from mother to son.  He cared for you as if you were his own," she said.  "And he was not the only one who cared for you!"  Not two seconds after Richard went back in to join the party, a boy about Will's age came running through.  He was taller, and blond, with a round, honest face.  

            "Andrew…" the colonel whispered.  "He's so young…" 

            "And so are you," the Spirit reminded him. 

            "Are you going to wait out here all night in the freezing cold?" Andrew asked, giving William and friendly punch on the arm.  

            "It's a boring party," Will lied.  

            "Are you kidding?  Olivia Atherby just went into hysterics because she found out that David Mewborough proposed to someone else… and you really don't care about all that, do you?" Andrew asked.  Will shrugged. 

            "Not really." 

            "Well, I have something that will make it even more interesting!"  Andrew patted his pocket.  "I was doing some exploring down in the cellar, and you'll never guess what I found that had crawled in there to get out of the cold!" He reached in and pulled out a thing green garden snake.  He held it out to Will, and the boy stepped back.  "Oh come on, Will!  You're not afraid of it, are you?" 

            "No, of course not," he said, quickly shaking his head.  The Spirit looked amusedly from young Will to the colonel, who had identical expressions again, this time of disgust.  

            "What?" Tavington demanded of her.  "I'm not frightened of snakes!  I just… don't like them." 

            "Oh, I believe you," she said innocently.  

            "I'm not!" 

            "No, you just get wide eyed and even paler than usual every time you see one," she said.  Tavington looked at her in amazement, opened his mouth to say something, and then shut it again. 

            "Speak of this to no one," he requested, a slight glint of humor in his eyes.  

            "Your secret is safe with me," she promised.  Back inside, the two boys were surreptitiously making their way over to a group of young women only a few years older than they were.  Will nodded slightly to Andrew, and the blond boy quickly drew the snake from his pocket and set it loose on the floor near the feet of the nearest young woman.  The boys then removed themselves a safe distance and watched.  Sure enough, thirty seconds later there was a chorus of loud screams, and the party guests were treated to the sight of a frantic group of girls jumping up on chairs and tables and lifting their skirts above their ankles to make sure there were no creatures slithering around near them.  Will and Andrew winked at each other and laughed.  Their mission complete, they found two empty chairs and sat down.  

            "I made you something," Andrew said, and stuck his hand in the pocket that hadn't contained the snake.  Will blushed a little and stared at his feet.  

            "You didn't have to.  I don't have a present for you."

            "It's all right!  I wanted to give you something, and well… it's not much.  Just something I made in my spare time. I thought I'd give it to you now since my family is going to the country in the morning." Andrew pulled out a wooden horse with a rider on its back.  It was roughly carved, but he looked proud as he handed it to Will.  "I tried to paint some soldier's clothes on him, but I don't think it turned out very well."  

            "No, it looks good," Will said, and turned the carving over in his hands.  "Thank you."  Andrew just shrugged, as if it was nothing.  

            "Come on, let's go see if there's anything else we can find that'll scare the girls!" he said.  

            "You boys were quite the trouble makers," the Spirit said.  

            "Andrew was always coming up with mischief, and I was always trying to get us out of it," William told her, closing his eyes for a moment.  "We were practically inseparable.  He was always such a good friend…" 

            "Yes," said the ghost, "but you were not always such a good friend to him." 

……………………..

            William didn't realize the scene had changed until he opened his eyes and found himself in a tidy bedroom, empty except for one person.  It was himself, a few years older than he had been in the last remembered Christmas scene.  

            "You and Andrew both joined the army, you because you wanted to, and he because his father forced him to.  But, he was terribly unhappy," the Spirit said.  

            "He wanted to go to America, try his luck in trade in the Colonies," William continued.  "So, he left his regiment.  He deserted."  He sat down hard on the bed and rubbed his forehead.  He knew what was coming.  

            There was a loud, hurried knocking on the door.  Tavington watched as his younger self strode across the room and answered it.  

            "Andrew!" he exclaimed.  "What are you doing here?  They've been searching all over for you.  Rumor says you've deserted." 

            "I did, Will," Andrew explained.  He had grown into a handsome man, tall and well built.  His blond hair had darkened over the years, but it was still light enough to sparkle in the late afternoon sun.  "You have to understand.  Not everyone _wants_ to be in the army.  Like you do.  Heaven knows I don't!  I can't do this any more, so I'm leaving." 

            "You're running away?" Will's voice was contemptuous.  

            "Will, I'm miserable.  I've been miserable since the day father forced me into this." 

            "You've come to say goodbye, then?" 

            "No.  I've come to ask for help," Andrew said.  He looked pleadingly at his friend.  "They're looking for me, I know that.  You have to help me hide." 

            "You want me to hide a deserter?  Are you mad?" William shouted.  "If they find you here with me, do you know what it will do to my reputation?  I could be dragged to trial along with you!" 

            "Can you at least give me some money?  Something to help me on my way?" Andrew asked.  

            "You know I don't have any to spare," Will told him.  "I'm still paying off the creditors father left me."  He laughed cynically.  "Some inheritance, eh?"  Andrew's face fell. 

            "You won't tell anyone I was here, will you?" he asked.  Before William could answer, there was another knock at the door.  

            "Tavington!" a voice shouted from the other side. "Open the door at once!"  Will did as he was told, but only opened the door a crack.  A pompous looking officer was standing on the other side.  "I'm searching for a deserter, Andrew Eastman."  

            Will turned his head and looked Andrew in the eye for a long moment.  Andrew frantically shook his head, but Will slowly opened the door to admit the search party.  On the bed, the colonel forced himself to watch as his friend was taken away.  His eyes were shining, and he was closer to tears than he had been in many years.  The Spirit, seeing his pain, crawled into his lap and hugged him, then touched his face with her small hand.  

            "There's some of that emotion I thought I saw earlier," she said gently.  

            "Andrew died.  In prison," he told her.  "There was nothing I could do, nothing I could have done…" 

            "You could have hidden him, or spoken for him," she said.  "But no, you wouldn't have your name connected with that of a deserter!" Her voice was a little more harsh and reproving at the last.  

            "Enough!"  Will said, and stood up, unceremoniously dumping his small companion on the ground. "These memories are… painful, Spirit.  Take me home… please."  She picked herself up off of the floor and brushed off her dress. 

            "I have shown you what you must see.  Do not forget, William," she warned him, and disappeared.  Tavington looked around to see where she had gone, and found himself back in his own bed.  


	3. The Ghost of Christmas Present

It seemed to the colonel that he had passed only a few minutes in troubled sleep when he became aware of a bright and cheerful light penetrating his eyelids. He groaned and pulled the covers over his head, but his clock chimed twice and pulled him back into consciousness. He opened his eyes, and immediately shielded them with the back of his hand. The entire room was ablaze with light. A roaring fire filled his hearth, and large torches had somehow appeared in the sconces on the wall. A lanky young man with sandy blond hair was sitting in his chair with a leg slung over one of the arms. He was munching on a well-cooked turkey leg and managing to drip grease on the floor. Tavington glared at him. The young man smiled mischievously and waved his hand. The brightness in the room lessened to a level that actually allowed the Colonel to see. He blinked in surprise. The floor of his room was completely covered with food. Fresh fruits and vegetables, pies, cakes, cooked birds with all the trimmings, puddings, sides of meat, bottles of wine, and casks of beer spilled over and onto one another.

"Where did all of this come from?" Tavington demanded. "And who are…" he cut off in mid sentence after taking a second look at his guest and recognizing Gabriel Martin. "You're that rebel spy!"

"No, I'm the Ghost of Christmas Present," the Spirit corrected him, though it was a little hard to understand what he was saying, as he was chewing turkey and talking at the same time.

"You're the _what?_" William asked. The Spirit swallowed his mouthful.

"I said, 'I'm the Ghost of Christmas Present.' I took this form because you know it. I'd have thought you'd have figured it out by now, seeing as how you just met my sister."

"She was your sister, eh?" William said. "I don't seem to recall her making such a mess." He gestured derisively at the bounty that was covering his floor. Despite his cold words, he reached out his hand to pick up a strawberry tart. Just as he was about to grasp it, the food vanished.

"Where did it go?" the colonel asked.

"I bring with me the fruits of the human spirit," the Ghost said. "Compassion, kindness, gentleness, love… you have no right to such a feast, colonel, but I'm going to show you some people who do!"

"That hardly seems fair," William mused, and the Ghost chuckled.

"You'll be deserving of them soon enough, if I have anything to say about it," he said. He went to the window and opened it, then picked up the candelabra left by the Ghost of Christmas Past. "I've told her not to leave her things lying around…" he murmured to himself, then seemed to remember William. "Well, come on!" he said. "I don't have all night, you know." He grinned broadly, and William thought he could make out traces of faint black stains on the Spirit's teeth.

"Did someone put ink in your tea, Spirit?" William asked, amused.

"I don't want to talk about it," the Ghost replied, and took another bite of turkey. _That,_ at least, had not disappeared with the rest of the feast. "Little siblings can be such trouble!" he grumbled, and with that, he grabbed William's arm, and the colonel was pulled out of his window for the second time that night.

They stood in the middle of the encampment that sprawled around Fort Carolina. It was a grey, frosty morning, and the colonel could see his breath hanging in the air. He shivered and wished that he had thought to bring his overcoat.

"I've been here many times, Spirit. Why bring me to this place?" he asked. "I don't fancy being seen by the men I must command looking like this."

"As with the Ghost of Christmas past, we shall be neither seen nor heard. Now, observe carefully. You come here often, but you do not really see. Come. Over here." The ghost pulled him over to a tent on the edge of the camp. A small fire was built in front of it, and a man with a heavy cloak pulled tightly around his body was trying to warm his hands. "Do you know this man?" the spirit asked.

"Of course I do!" William said. "It's my servant, Robert. What is he doing outside in the cold? Why isn't he in his tent on a morning like this?"

"He's making Christmas breakfast for his family."

"Does he not have a wife? Or did he marry a woman who couldn't cook?" Will asked. The spirit threw a disgusted glance in his direction.

"His wife, Colonel, was up all of last night caring for their daughter. He is kindly letting her sleep." William said nothing in reply. They watched as Robert made biscuits and put three meager slices of ham over the fire. When the meat was cooked, he covered the skillet with a tin plate and ducked into the tent. Childlike noises issued from inside, and shortly thereafter a Robert emerged with one arm around a small, tired-looking woman and the other holding a little girl with light brown hair and soft eyes.

"Hold your plate out, Sarah darling," Robert said, setting her down on the fallen log that had been positioned by the fire. The child obediently did as she was asked, and Robert placed the largest slice of meat and a biscuit on her plate.

"Thank you, Papa," she said. Her voice was high and reedy. It seemed to be coming from somewhere far off and distant.

"Not much of a breakfast, is it?" William said. The ghost scowled at him.

"No, it's not, but it's all Robert can afford!"

"I pay him well enough," William grumbled. The spirit's angry gaze didn't alter. "Don't look at me like that. I pay the man well for his services, and he is able to provide for his family. Without me, there wouldn't be any breakfast on Christmas morning at all! Besides, I don't see why this man and his family are any of my concern."

While the colonel was speaking, Robert finished his meal and reached inside the tent. He brought out two wrapped bundles and placed on in his wife's lap, the other in his daughter's.

"Open yours first, Sarah," his wife said. Sarah timidly pulled at the string that held the bundle together. The paper fell away to reveal a doll, obviously second hand, with a painted face and blue dress. Sarah looked from the doll to her father, her eyes wide with disbelief.

"For _me,_ Papa?" she asked.

"Of course she's for you!" Robert said happily, and scooped his daughter up into his lap. "A pretty doll for the prettiest little girl I know." Sarah smiled and hugged her father's neck with one arm while holding the doll close with the other. "Open yours, Martha," Robert said. His wife pulled the string on her package, and gasped, putting one hand to her mouth. A goodly length of fine green fabric lay in her lap.

"I thought you could make yourself something pretty," Robert said bashfully. Martha leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

"If you're going to see me in it, it will have to be breathtaking!" she said, and smiled for the first time that morning.

"You already are, my dear," Robert murmured and pulled his wife close to him for a longer kiss. Sarah, who had fallen asleep, shifted fitfully in his arms.

"Here, give her to me. Let's get her in out of the cold," Martha said. The child was handed from one parent to the other, and Martha disappeared inside.

"I must not pay him so badly if he afford frivolous presents for his wife and child," William said, a thin-lipped smile of satisfaction on his face.

"Just be quiet and listen for once in your life, will you?" the ghost said angrily. William was about to say something in his defense when a worried-looking Martha came out of the tent. Robert patted a place on the log next to him, and she sat down and put her head on his shoulder.

"You shouldn't have bought those things. I don't know what you were thinking. We scarcely have enough to live on, and you're buying dolls and dresses..."

"I didn't exactly _buy_ them..." Robert said, embarrassed. Martha gave him a hard look, as did the colonel.

"He stole those things?" the colonel demanded of the ghost. "I'll not have a thief in my employ!"

"Be QUIET, William!" the spirit snapped.

Robert hung his head sheepishly. "Truth is, I was given them," he said. "Mrs. Bryce, the lady who's head of the kitchens in the big house… I see her often in the course of my duties. I've talked to her about Sarah once or twice, and she saved the doll for me when it was going to be thrown out. It's the same with the cloth. That I got from the tailor who makes Colonel Tavington's shirts. He said it was a few seasons out of fashion and wouldn't sell anyway. Second-hand, I know, but at least it's something…"

Martha reached over and squeezed Robert's hand. "They are marvelous gifts, Dear," she assured him.

"Your manservant must be quite a fellow to provoke others to such acts of generosity," the Ghost of Christmas Present observed to William.

"Yes, Robert always has had a kind and cheerful nature. It's… why I hired him, I believe," William said. He looked away from Robert and his wife, suddenly uncomfortable in the presence of two people who shared such deep affection.

The sound of a dry, wracking cough came from inside the tent, and Robert and Martha exchanged worried glances.

"She's not getting better," Martha said at last.

"Perhaps when spring comes, and it's warmer…" Robert started to say. He looked to his wife as if pleading for confirmation of his hopes.

"Yes, of course," she said, but her words were empty of belief. "I'll go see to her," she said, and ducked inside the tent. She held the flap open long enough for those outside to see Sarah lying under a pile of blankets, her eyes wide and her face flushed with fever.

William turned to the Spirit.

"What is wrong with his little girl?" he asked.

"A weakness of the lungs. Not an uncommon thing, but she needs a doctor, better food, a warmer place to live."

"Spirit, tell me… Will she live?" William asked. He did not remember when he had felt so touched by the suffering of another. Disease and death were as much a part of the soldier's life as the turning of the seasons, and he had long since learned to harden his heart to them. But this child… this child was different. It had been a long time since he had looked upon the face of innocence and known it for what it was.

"If these shadows remain unchanged, I see an empty cot in your manservant's tent. I see a small, shallow grave, and I see Robert's wife weeping and alone while he is gone." The Ghost shrugged. "But what are these things to you? Yes, the child may die… No matter, though. She was none of your concern." He gave the Colonel a pointed look and lifted the candelabra he held high into the air.

Before William could reply or defend himself, the snowy field outside of Fort Carolina faded away, and he found himself standing in a place he knew very well.

"What are we doing in Lord Cornwallis' personal quarters?" he hissed at the Spirit.

"Do you know what is through that door?" the Spirit asked.

"The dining room," William said, impatient at having to answer such an obvious question.

"Yes, William. And today is Christmas Day. We are here to be invisible guests at a gathering I believe you were invited to," the Spirit said.

"An invitation I declined," William said grumpily. "So I don't see any use in my going in now, visible or no."

The Ghost sighed. "Just open the door, why don't you? Time is the one thing neither of us has in abundance."

William glared at the Spirit, but anything he might have said was drowned out by the noise of many voices. A servant had opened the door to the dining room and stepped out into the hall. The Spirit grabbed the Colonel by the arm and pulled him into the room just as the door closed behind them.

Lord Cornwallis' table was splendidly arrayed. Steam rose from food piled on silver platters, and the General and his officers were eating from fine white china. The General had not skimped on light, either, and the glow from a hundred different candles danced on the faces of the men around the table.

General O'Hara, who sat at Cornwallis' right hand, had apparently just made a particularly witty remark, and everyone around him was chuckling. William tried to catch what they were saying, but he could not. Cautiously, he made his way across the room until he was standing behind Cornwallis' chair.

"They seem to be quite jolly without me," Tavington observed.

"You could have shared in their merriment," the Spirit reminded him.

William's eyes hardened, and his mouth twisted into a sardonic smile. "I would not have been truly welcome here."

"You might be surprised," the Spirit said. "Listen."

General Cornwallis lightly tapped his fork upon his glass, and the room fell silent.

"First, I would like to thank all of you for coming," Cornwallis began. "It is a pleasure to share this fine Christmas dinner with you gentlemen." There were nods and murmurs of agreement from the assembled company. "Also," the General continued, "I would like to express my gratitude for your faithful service as officers of the Crown. I am privileged to work with such a fine group of men." He looked around the table. "It is a rare occasion that all of us are able to gather together, and I suggest we make the best of it and enjoy one another's company and friendship."

Someone at the far end of the table cleared his throat. "Not _all_ of us are here," said a voice William knew very well. "Colonel Tavington is absent."

"Bordon?" he said, raising an eyebrow in surprise. "I didn't know he'd been invited as well..." He looked at the men in the room once more and realized that there were several lower-ranking officers present—good soldiers, all of them, and worthy of the General's notice.

O'Hara laughed. "Perhaps that's for the best," he said. "I don't think that Colonel Tavington would know how to act in pleasant company if his life depended on it! He's probably off in his room alone, being gloomy and morose." Several of the other officers laughed. William scowled at the prissy little man and took a step toward him, but the Ghost of Christmas Present put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head.

General Cornwallis, however, was not laughing. Instead, he leveled a disapproving look at O'Hara. "I, for one, regret that Tavington was unable to join us," he said loudly enough for everyone to hear. The laughter at William's expense stopped abruptly. "We have had our disagreements, yes, but I have always found him to be a fine, loyal soldier," Cornwallis continued.

"And he's a good officer too," Bordon chimed in. "I couldn't ask for a finer man to serve under." William looked surprised all over again. Bordon was usually silent as a stone in the presence of his superiors, and yet this was the second time in one evening William had heard his second in command speak in his defense.

"Perhaps next year, he will see fit to join us," Cornwallis said.

"Next year, if it please God, this war will be over and we'll be having our Christmas feast in England," O'Hara said. William nodded. For once, he agreed with the man.

"Hear hear!" someone said, and raised his glass in the air. The rest of the officers followed suit. For a moment, William looked as if he wished that he could join them.

The Ghost of Christmas Present was rubbing his chin, deep in thought. "Oh no," he said sarcastically, "you have _no_ friends here at all." He gave William an impudent smile and guided him toward the door. "There is one last thing I must show you before my time is spent," he said as the familiar halls of Fort Carolina melted away.

William found himself standing near the hearth in what appeared to be a poor farmer's house. A rough wooden table was set up in the center of the room. William noticed that those who sat around it were mostly young children, though there was one man who was sitting with his back to the Colonel. He walked around to the other side of the room to get a better look at the fellow, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He had thought that the children looked familiar. He knew the man who was the father of this family. He would have recognized that stubborn, wind-blown face anywhere.

"That's Benjamin Martin!" he said, almost shouting. The Ghost of Christmas Present nodded affably. "That man is The Ghost! The one I've been seeking..." William turned to the Spirit with a gleam in his eye. "Where are they, Spirit? Can you tell me? If I could only..."

"No!" the Spirit said. He sighed. "That isn't why I brought you here, and you have learned nothing if you thought for a moment that I'd tell you where this man and his children are this Christmas day."

"Then why bring me here?" William asked, his voice seething with irritation.

"I know that this man is your enemy. I even understand that it must be so," the Spirit said. "But I have brought you here to show you that Ben Martin is a _man_ as well."

William scowled.

"Look!" the Spirit commanded.

William did as he was told. "None of them seem very happy," he said. The children were all eating quietly, and none of them seemed interested in looking at one another.

At last, the oldest girl raised her head. "I miss Thomas," she said in a small voice.

Ben Martin smiled gently at her. "We all do, Margaret."

"He always did like Christmas," Gabriel Martin said.

The Ghost of Christmas Present nudged William in the ribs. "Good looking boy, that, don't you think?" he whispered, and pointed at Gabriel, whose face the Spirit still wore.

William shushed him. "You wanted me to listen, so be quiet, would you?"

"Thomas wouldn't want us to be sad on Christmas," one of the younger boys said quietly. He attempted a small smile, and Gabriel ruffled his hair.

"No, Samuel, he wouldn't," Gabriel said. "Come on everyone, cheer up." He looked imploringly at each and every one of his family members. "It's Christmas, and we're together. That should give us reason enough to celebrate."

Samuel tried to swat Gabriel's hand away from his mussed hair, and the older boy grinned at his brother's annoyance. The youngest girl put her hand over her mouth and giggled.

It seemed that the Martins were about to have their first happy moment of the evening when one of the other boys said, "Thomas can't laugh with us. Because he isn't here."

Margaret put a hand on his shoulder. "Nathan..." she whispered.

The boy looked straight at where William was standing with eyes that were far too hard and cold for one so young. "I wish I could kill the man who shot him. I wish I had. That day..."

Ben Martin looked as if he himself had just been pierced through. William studied the man's face as he tried to come up with a response to his son. The emotions that played across Ben Martin's face were many and varied—sorrow, regret, anger, loss. Without realizing it, William held his breath while he waited for Martin to speak.

"Let us... not speak of revenge this Christmas Day," he said at last. The children nodded.

"Maybe that mean man who killed Thomas was... only a mean man because he had no kind mother or father to love him," the youngest boy offered. He looked hopefully at his father, and Ben Martin smiled.

William was taken aback. His face paled a little and his jaw tightened.

"I have no need of that boy's pity," he hissed.

"Whether you have any need of it makes no difference," the Spirit said. He suddenly looked very cold and other-than-human. "The fact remains that this small child from whom you took so much can still find some kindness in his heart for the likes of you."

"I do not ask for it!" William said. His voice was almost shaking. "No more. Take me home, Spirit."

"Look here, William Tavington!" the Spirit cried. They were no longer standing in the room with the Martins, but in a misty, snow-covered field. Two children had appeared at the Spirit's side, each of them deathly thin. They were dressed in rags and the looked up at the Colonel with hungry, hollow eyes.

"Who are they?" William asked. The words stuck in his throat.

"The boy is Ignorance," he said, and he put his hand on the shoulder of a boy with a dull and lifeless face. "The girl is Want."

William turned his eyes away from the little girl who seemed to have the suffering of all the poor in since the beginning of time written on her face.

"Look at them!" the Spirit commanded. "They may be your destruction, for they are the doom of all who doubt their existence."

"I see them," Tavington said at last. "I do not doubt."

There was no answer, and his words echoed in the empty air. He was alone on the snowy hillside.

"Spirit?" William called. "Where have you gone? You must take me home!"

As if in answer, a harsh wind began to blow.

Author's note: I wasn't overly kind to poor General O'Hara in this chapter, and I feel compelled to say that from what I've read, he wasn't anything like the prissy fellow he was shown to be in the movie. However, for purposes of plot, I've kept him a snotty little twit.


	4. The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come

Colonel Tavington shivered. The wind cut through his thin nightshirt, chilling him to the bone, and the steel gray sky seemed to weigh heavily upon him. However, even in such an oppressive atmosphere, he held his head high as he searched for some familiar landmark that might guide him home.

Before he could even take a step, he saw that a dark figure stood before him. The man was clothed all in black. His coat was of a severe and conservative cut, and his black tri-cornered hat was pulled down low over his face.

"Are you the third spirit whose coming was foretold to me?" William asked. "Are you the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come?"

The third Spirit inclined his head in acknowledgment and moved toward the Colonel. The snow made no sound under the Spirit's feet. When he was still a few paces off from William, he raised his arm and pointed a black-gloved hand to the west.

"This way?" Tavington asked.

Again, the Spirit pointed to the west.

"Oh, very well," William muttered, and he started making his way through the snow. "Can you not speak, Spirit? The last of your kind who I met was never at a loss for words."

The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come did not even turn to look at him, and William fell silent.

When they had walked for perhaps a quarter of a mile, William saw a large military encampment spread out before them. It was dusk, and men sat around cook fires, warming themselves and preparing their evening meals.

No one noticed their passing as they made their way through the camp. All seemed to be in order, and William nodded approvingly as they walked past the precisely situated rows of tents. At last, the Ghost stopped in front of a large tent with a lamp burning inside. He beckoned William over and pointed at the entrance.

William ducked inside the small shelter and looked uneasily at the two men sitting there. Each of them had a camp desk in front of him and a pile of small packages at his side. Tavington had seen neither of them before, and he could not imagine what they had to do with him.

"A fine job to be stuck with on Christmas Eve, eh Bill?" one of the men asked.

The other gave a long suffering sigh. "Had to be done, I suppose. Men die, leave behind personal effects, and have no family or friends for the army to send their things to... something has to be done with all of it. Not exactly the cheeriest job, though." He uncorked a flask of liquor that was sitting on his desk and took a long drink. "This'd raise your spirits a bit, if you'd like," Bill said, and tossed the flask to his partner.

"Many thanks," he said, and took a long swallow.

"Not so much, Timothy!" Bill said, and reached across the small space between them to snatch his drink back.

Timothy read the name written on a tag attached to the package on the top of his pile and laughed.

"Now _there's_ a name I'm not surprised to see," he said, and held it up so that Bill could read it as well.

"Never did think that one had a family waiting back at home for him," Bill said.

"And if he did, they'd not have wanted him back!" Timothy grinned at his own cleverness.

Colonel Tavington tried to move closer so that he too could read the name of the man in question, but Timothy had already cut the string wrapped around the package and removed the paper covering.

"What's he got?" Bill asked. He got up from his chair and came to peer over Timothy's shoulder.

"Some old letters, to start with..." Timothy tossed a packet of paper tied with a faded ribbon onto the desk.

William leaned in close and studied the writing on the topmost paper.

"I know that hand!" he said. He looked up at the Ghost, who still stood at the threshold. "Though, of course, I may be mistaken. One man's hand may appear very like another's..."

"Can't imagine who he'd have to write to," Bill said. "What else is there?"

"Looks like an old commission, a miniature of a lady..."

Bill snorted.

"And we've got something wrapped in this little bit of cloth..." Timothy shook the tattered piece of linen and two objects fell out and clattered on the hard wood of the camp desk—a silver ring with a blue stone and a small carving of a man on horseback.

"This isn't worth much," Bill said, and brushed the carving off onto the ground. "But _this_ on the other hand..." he picked up the ring and held it up to the light. "This might bring in some coin."

"Pity we have to report it," Timothy said. He sighed and made a note in the ledger that was open in front of him.

"Those... those are my things! Mother's ring, her portrait, my letters..." William said. He hurried over to the Ghost. "I demand to know why these odious men are going through my things!"

The Ghost said nothing. He lifted his arm again and pointed out into the night.

"No! I will not leave this place until I have some answers!" the Colonel said, his voice getting louder with every word.

The Ghost loomed before him, filling William's vision with darkness and his mind with the chaotic uncertainty that came with being so near a creature bound to the future. The Ghost flung his arm toward the outside, and at last, William went where he was bidden to go.

William did not find himself out in the cold. Instead, he stood in an officer's tent. General O'Hara sat at his desk, looking rather harried. Two more officers stood nearby, and all of them were shaking their heads.

"I was surprised he held on so long," one of them was saying, "considering the nature of his injuries."

"It was a hard death, there at the end," another man, a lieutenant by his uniform, said, removing his hat.

O'Hara rubbed the bridge of his nose. "It has been my experience that bad people usually end badly."

"He ended very badly, even for him," the lieutenant said, a small measure of pity in his voice.

The tent flaps parted, and Timothy, the same man who William had seen sorting through his belongings, came inside.

"I went through his effects as you requested, Sir," Timothy said. "There was nothing of value, save this." He reached into his pocket and produced the sapphire ring.

"Perhaps it could be sold and the money used to put up a small stone with his name on it, though I don't know why anyone would care to know where such a man was buried," General O'Hara murmured.

"This is unconscionable!" William said, rounding on the Ghost. "Though I do not know who it is they speak of... he could be any man, a man whose things were like mine... it does not matter! How dare they speak with such little respect of a man who died in the service of his King?" He knew by now not to look to the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come for comfort, but he turned to the dark spirit anyway, for no other would even acknowledge his presence.

"I'll see to it after Christmas," O'Hara said. "He's in the cold ground already, and it's not as if he won't keep." The other officers laughed, and William winced at the callous tone of their merriment.

The dark and angry expression on William's face deepened. "Spirit," he said, "somewhere, there must be one person who felt _something_ because of this man's death. I demand that you show me that person! Let me see some tenderness, some depth of feeling!"

The Spirit nodded, and William thought that he saw two points of light glinting beneath the brim of the Spirit's hat. He looked away. He did not wish to see the Spirit's eyes.

Gray, roiling mist surrounded him, and when they cleared, he found himself once again in the presence of Robert Eastfield's wife, Martha. She was stirring a thin porridge that was cooking on the fire. Her face was drawn and tired, and her eyes were no longer cheerful. William looked for Sarah, but he did not see her.

Robert came walking slowly up the path to the tent. His face, which William had so often seen smiling, was pale and sunken. He knelt and warmed his hands by the fire, and he took the bowl of porridge that his wife offered him.

"Any luck?" she asked.

"Not yet. But don't worry, I'm sure I'll find a new place soon," he said, but he did not sound as if he believed it.

"You were gone a long while," Martha said. "What kept you?"

Robert set his dish on the ground and rested his forehead on his hands. "I walked by there today. There are a great many crosses... it was... difficult to find. But I took special care to remember where she was. There is... a large, spreading tree nearby. I'm sure that when summer comes and the grass grows in it will be lovely."

Martha sat beside him and took his hand in hers. His shoulders began to shake, and he wept.

"Sarah..." Robert whispered.

Martha wrapped her arms around her husband. He rested his head against her stomach, and she ran her fingers through his hair. Her middle, William suddenly realized, was swollen with the weight of another child.

"There was nothing more you could have done," Martha said soothingly. "And she will never truly be gone, as long as we remember her."

"She was such a sweet child... kind, gentle, no trouble at all..." Robert drew in a ragged breath.

"That's true," William murmured, and wondered at the sound of his own voice. He had not meant to speak.

"And the child you carry," Robert said, "is there nothing better in store for that one?"

Tears were rolling down Martha's cheeks. "We must hope that there is, my dear," she said.

William looked to the Spirit.

"I asked you to show me tenderness," he said, "and you have done so." The words seemed to crowd in his chest, and he spoke with difficulty. "Please. I beg you. Take me home."

The Spirit raised his hand, and the mists engulfed them for the last time.

They stood in the middle of a field of fresh graves. It was night, and the moon was high in the heavens. It had snowed recently, and the crosses were dusted with white powder.

"Spirit, this is not..." William started to say.

The Ghost silenced him with a wave of his arm. He pointed at a single cross, set off a little distance from the others. The Colonel took a hesitant step forward.

"This is the grave of the man we spoke of earlier, is it not?"

The Spirit inclined his head.

"Then I fear to see the name that is written there," William said. "Please, tell me, are these things that you have shown me etched in stone? Or can they yet be changed?"

Again, the Spirit pointed, and William took a few more faltering steps.

"I have been shown many things by you and your brethren, I am changed..." he insisted.

The Spirit pointed to the lone cross, illuminated by a pale beam of moonlight.

"I cannot," William said. "This I cannot do!"

A strong wind roared through the trees and across the field. The Colonel staggered at its force, and the black hat that had shadowed the face of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come blew away. William found himself looking at a man who was the very image of Benjamin Martin.

The Ghost advanced toward him, and William shuddered to see his face, implacable and terrible. He felt as if a hand of ice had closed around his heart. At last, he stood beside the humble cross and the recently dug grave.

"Must I do this?" William asked.

The Ghost pointed at the crossbeam of the little memorial. A name was written there, obscured by snow. William nearly fell at the force of the Ghost's silent command. Gingerly, he knelt by the grave and brushed the snow away with the palm of his hand.

"No," he whispered. It was his own name that had been hastily scratched into the wood, 'Colonel William Tavington.' He shook his head, unwilling to believe it.

"Death in battle I can understand, it is a soldier's lot," he reasoned, "but to die like this? With such a lack of feeling, alone and unremembered... What man could want this?" The wetness that had gathered in the corners of his eyes made the cold wind sting even more.

"I see that I have been wrong about a great many things. But, a man can change, can he not? It is only fair that you let me have that chance! Let me walk out among my fellow men, show that I have learned the lessons that the Spirits have taught me well. I can change, Spirit! I can change!"

The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come stood silently over him as he pled. And William Tavington, his spirit nearly broken, felt tears falling from his face before the icy ground reached out to claim him.


	5. On Christmas Day

Somewhere in Fort Carolina, a bell was ringing. For once, it was not ringing to warn, or to call men to action, and the long, sonorous peals echoed over the British encampment.

The bell roused William from his sleep. He sat up abruptly and fought to free himself from his twisted blankets. He was breathing hard, and he could still feel the chill of the snow that had covered his own lonely grave. Forcing down the panic that still clung to him from the dream, he grasped at the familiar bedclothes.

"My own quarters... my own bed... I'm back," he murmured.

The plain wooden floor was cold against his bare feet, but he ignored the chill and went to the window. More snow had fallen in the night, and the fort and its surrounding grounds looked as if they had been covered by a pristine white mantle. He could see a few soldiers moving around down below, and a sudden discomfiting thought occurred to him. It felt like an age since he had received his Christmas Eve visit from Richard, and he had no way of telling how much time had passed while he was with the spirits.

He threw his coat over his shoulders and rushed out into the hall. He literally ran into the first person he saw, a young serving maid who was coming out of another room with a bucket of ashes in her hands.

"Terribly sorry, Sir!" she exclaimed when she saw with whom she had just collided. "I didn't see you..."

"Never you mind. Just tell me, what day is it?" William said, a little more brusquely than he intended. Her eyes widened a little. William took a deep breath, remembering that he had a reputation with the staff for being a rather unpleasant fellow, and said, "I'm sorry that I startled you. It is simply... very important that I know what day it is."

"Why, it's Christmas Day, Sir," she said, looking at him a little strangely.

William smiled, and the girl gaped at him in surprise. Not one of the servants had _ever_ seen the Colonel smile before. "Of course! Of course it is... Thank you," William said. "Now, would you mind running an errand for me? That is, if it wouldn't take you away from your duties and get you in trouble."

"Your room is the last whose hearth needs cleaning," she said. "So I'd be happy to help you."

"Excellent," William said. "Now, what I need for you to do is go down to the kitchens and..." He leaned in close and whispered a few sentences in her ear. Before she left, he dropped a coin in her hand, and the girl stared at it, dumbfounded. It was not a small coin.

"Yes, Sir! Right away, Sir!" she promised as she scurried away.

"And a Merry Christmas to you!" William called after her.

William stood alone in the hallway for a moment, grinning like a fool. A door slammed in another part of the building, and he shook himself. He had much to do, and little time in which to do it. He strode purposefully back to his room.

When he emerged some time later, he was, as usual, simply but impeccably dressed. However, all who saw him making his way through the fort looked twice at him as he passed. There was a lightness to his step that was unlike him, and a secret half-smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.

In short order, he stood before the door to General Cornwallis' study. The servant at the door greeted him with a stiff bow.

"If the general is in, I would like to speak with him," William said.

The man nodded perfunctorily and disappeared inside the study. When he returned, he gestured for William to enter.

"Thank you, and a Merry Christmas to you," William said. He was almost coming to enjoy the shocked look that came over people when those words passed his lips.

Cornwallis sat behind his desk. There was a cup of steaming hot tea at his right hand, and a stack of papers at his left.

"Ah, Colonel Tavington. What is it?" the general asked.

William met the Cornwallis' eyes. If he were going to apologize, he wasn't going to do it looking at the floor like a bashful boy.

"Regarding our conversation yesterday, Sir. About Christmas... and the invitation that I refused..."

Cornwallis folded his hands under his chin. "Yes?"

"I have had... an opportunity to think a great deal, and I have... come to the conclusion that I have been mistaken about... many things, the value of Christmas among them. And, I had hoped, that if the invitation you extended to me yesterday still stood, that I might join you and the other officers for Christmas dinner." This last part came out in more of a rush than he might have wished, but Cornwallis graciously refrained from commenting on his obvious discomfort.

"I'm glad to see you've changed your mind," the general said. "The invitation still stands, Colonel. I would be happy to see you at my table today."

"Thank you, Sir." William gave Cornwallis a genuinely grateful smile, and when he left, Cornwallis stared after him with a bemused look upon his face.

Tavington made his way to the kitchens, where the girl he had spoken to earlier handed him a heavy sack. He thanked her and ventured out into the cold.

The tents were full of activity by this hour of the morning. William had a bit of difficulty finding the place he sought, but everyone was cheerful and open-hearted, and he had no problem finding a person willing to direct him where he needed to go.

Robert was stooped over the cook fire when William approached, and he did not see him coming. William concentrated for a moment and forced his face into a harsh and serious glare. When he was ready, he cleared his throat loudly. Robert looked up, saw him standing there, and nearly tipped his family's breakfast into the fire.

"Colonel... Sir!" he exclaimed.

William wanted to laugh, but he managed to keep his expression fierce.

"I do believe that _one_ of us forgot something yesterday, hmm?" he asked in the most condescending tone he could muster.

"Forgot? Sir, I'm sorry, but I can't imagine what... Your clothes were clean, everything was polished, and I thought that you were satisfied with my services..."

"Enough!" William said, interrupting him. He set the bag he carried down at his side, taking care to keep it closed. "This cannot go on, Robert. It is simply unacceptable." Martha emerged from the tent, having heard the sound of the Colonel's voice. She cast a worried glance at her husband.

"Sir, if I have been remiss I sure that I can..."

"You leave me no choice, but to..." William paused for a moment and nudged the sack open with his foot, "provide you and your family with Christmas breakfast."

Robert and Martha both looked at William as if he had been replaced by a changeling.

"Robert, look!" Martha said. She began to pull items from the bag. "Fresh bread, still warm from the oven by the feel of it, some salted pork, a cut of beef, some sausages, a sack of potatoes..."

"There are extra blankets and some other foodstuffs, as well," William said quietly.

"What a feast we'll have! Martha dear, wake Sarah for me, would you?" Robert asked. He still looked like a man whose entire world had been turned upside down. "What can I say to thank you, Sir?"

"I deserve little thanks. This is something I should have done long ago." William pulled a small purse of money from his pocket. "This is something I should have done as well. I will be raising your salary, and I ask that you consider this sum... as payment for services well rendered, but poorly compensated."

If possible, Robert looked even more flabbergasted. Before he could find his voice, Martha came out holding Sarah in her arms. She regarded William with wide, trusting eyes.

"Is this the nice man who brought us such wonderful things to eat and drink?" she asked.

"He is," Martha told her. She looked down at Robert, who was rummaging through the food, and sighed. "Would you mind, Colonel?" She held Sarah out to William, and he awkwardly accepted her. "Please, sit down, make yourself comfortable," she urged him. She then knelt down beside her husband and commenced giving him directions.

In all his life, William Tavington had never once held a child, and he had not the slightest idea of what to do with her. She was light as air and delicate as glass. He sat down slowly, worried that he might hurt her. Sarah giggled at his confusion.

Without warning, she wrapped her small arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. "Thank you," she whispered.

William flinched. He had received wounds from enemy bullets with more stoicism.

Martha shooed Robert away from the fire, and he sat down on the fallen log beside William.

"Guess she'll be handling things, then," Robert murmured. He reached out and stroked his daughter's soft hair.

"I'm going to see about having you and your family moved to one of the more permanent structures in the fort," William said.

"Do you really think they'd find room?" Robert asked.

"I plan to make certain that they do," William said in a tone of voice that brooked no argument. "On account of Sarah's health, and because, as an officer, I'm entitled to have my servant close at hand."

"That would be... most kind of you," Robert said.

William smiled and shifted Sarah in his arms. "Merry Christmas, Robert."

"And a Merry Christmas to you, Sir!"

Turning his face towards a pale sun in a clear sky, William said, "It is indeed." He carefully handed Sarah back to her father. "I must take my leave now and let you enjoy your day with your family."

Sarah waved at him over Robert's shoulder as he walked away. Shyly, he raised a hand and waved back at her.

William arrived at the General's quarters just as Cornwallis and the other officers were sitting down to eat.

"Ah, Colonel Tavington. I was beginning to wonder whether you were going to join us," Cornwallis said.

"My apologies, Sir," William said as he took his seat beside Bordon. His second command looked askance at him, but welcomed him warmly all the same.

The food and the wine were both excellent, and much to his surprise, the men seated around him made an effort to include him in their conversation. William was thoroughly enjoying himself when one of the servants whispered to him that a messenger waited for him in the hall.

"If you'll excuse me, gentlemen," he said, and followed the servant through the doorway.

One of his dragoons—Wilkins, he remembered the man's name was—was pacing up and down the corridor.

"What is it, Wilkins?" Tavington asked.

"I wouldn't have interrupted your dinner, but I heard a rumor... One of Benjamin Martin's children has taken ill. He's being taken to a doctor in a nearby town as we speak.

A predatory gleam sprang up in the Colonel's eye. "Is the Ghost with his child?" he asked.

"Not that I've heard. I asked, but no one's seen _him_ for weeks. I simply thought you'd want to know." Wilkins looked expectantly at William for an answer.

The Colonel was silent. He knew that this choice, this first, hard test, would be a difficult one. He sighed. There would be other days, other battles.

"If there is no sign of the Ghost, then leave the child alone," he said. "After all, it _is_ Christmas Day."

"Yes, Sir," Wilkins said. He marched back down the hall, his boot heels striking loudly on the floorboards.

William turned and walked through the open door to rejoin the festivities.

The End


End file.
